What happened to felt-boards? Children's Sermons: Bigger than Broadway!

While my hyper-active, over-loaded, spinning-out-of-control, up-all-night brain was laser-focused on obliterating the limited means I was afforded to reach out and meet the needs of my now-isolated students, a small but persistent nagging feeling was ever-present in my mind and heart. My church. What was I doing for my church?

Don't get me wrong. I don't actually do ANYTHING for my church. I accompany Brad while he teaches Sunday School and deliberately sabotage every lesson with irrelevant conversation, eye-rolling, and outright mocking. I begrudgingly agree to read assigned bible passages during sermon once a month and BITTERLY complain about it to my pastor for days leading up to the reading and for days following the reading. And I'm not counting how I complain from the pulpit itself and then write a follow-up blog chronicling the entire experience in dramatic detail. I did donate sugar-free lime Jello to the church's little bird house for people but no one wants it. Brad and I eagerly track its movement from week-to-week...slight shifts in angle and one big exciting promotion from the middle shelf to the top shelf. We have really high hopes for our donation eventually finding a good home. If you don't want to commit to an adoption, would you consider fostering?

I had broached the idea of video-taping a children's message for our church to Brad several weeks ago but he was dubious about both the idea and implementation of this endeavor. "Why are you going to dress like a bee?" he asked. "Well...first of all, my octopus costume is at school," I explained before also telling him, "And Rachel spent twenty dollars on the bee costume and it would be nice to get her money's worth out of it." Apparently my husband did not feel that these reasons warranted the production of a lavish children's message. I tried selling it a couple of more times but to no avail.

Fast-forward to the Saturday before Palm Sunday.

I have been experiencing, at the speed of light...occurring at unpredictable moments and for undetermined lengths of time, manic high highs and homicidal-ly low lows. In other words, I am a DELIGHT to live with for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Knowing this, I decided to bring up the children's message again. "The bee won't work," Brad said firmly, "It's Palm Sunday...you can't shove a bee-shaped message into a Jesus-arriving-in-Jerusalem hole." I stared at him...infuriated. Fuming, I fought the impulse to shove a bee-shaped message into his hole.

After thirty minutes of mature, respectful, collaborative discourse, I screamed, "What do YOU suggest then?""It's Palm Sunday," Brad started as I fought the duh, "Jesus, riding a donkey, is entering Jerusalem." I rolled my eyes. I LOVED Brad's bible lessons. He ignored me. "Imagine riding a horse down the old railroad tracks across the road, between the stone walls of the dismantled bridge...Jesus looks up..." My back went ramrod straight. Goose bumps rose on my arms. I could see his vision. "A lone figure stands on the edge, calling down to Jesus...Sunkmanitu Tanka Ob Waci!" I described. "No," Brad frowned, "This isn't Dances With Wolves. Jesus looks at the rock wall and says that if the people didn't acknowledge Him, the rocks would. Are you listening to me, Amy?"

I was already on the phone to my neighbor trying to arrange a horse. This was the best idea EVER! I wondered if 39 degrees was too cold for Brad to stand shirtless on the edge of the bridge. "Put the phone down," my husband said. I was busy mapping scenes in my mind. "Put...the...phone...down," he repeated, "Why do you just plunge into a plan without thinking it all the way through first?" he asked, questioning my creative process and my WHOLE reason for existing. Uh-oh. Cue dramatic mood swing. After thirty minutes of mature, respectful, collaborative discourse, I stormed out of the house. Two hours, a Pepsi, and a walk in the woods later, I returned home.Where else was I going to go? I'm freakin' social distancing here!

Brad was waiting with a more reasonable idea that involved a magic trick, being tied up, and him wearing a fake mustache. "Are you sure this is appropriate material for a children's message?" I joked as Brad secured me with rope. He winked and gave a villainous twist to his pipe-cleaner mustache. "Frankly, my dear," he sneered wickedly at me, "I would be surprised if ANYONE will even be bothered to watch this ridiculousness."

So be it. If no one bothers to watch it, perhaps the rocks will.

And that still, small voice will have been placated...for now.